


The Princess and the Criminal

by Happy_Veggie_Farmer



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy_Veggie_Farmer/pseuds/Happy_Veggie_Farmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my theory for why Red entered Liz's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and the Criminal

By the fifth day of the trip it was beginning to feel like one of those cheap package tours that promised ten countries in seven days. Liz was exhausted, confused, and headachy, but she still managed to fake a smile for the newest eager hostess welcoming them into her modest home. All Liz knew at this point was they had arrived in yet another small village carved out of the wilderness of the farthest reaches of Siberia. It was late fall, which here meant there was already multiple snow drifts taller than her head with the promise of even more snowfall to arrive that night. St. Petersburg was five hours away by plane and completely impossible by any other traveling method, her burner phone hadn't shown even one bar since their plane landed, and Reddington was at his most impossible. She missed the days back on the run in the US when he talked far too much; it was irritating, yes, but now she knew for sure chatty was much better than morose. He had barely spoken to her for the last two days. 

It was a young man that answered the door this time; his suspicious expression was lifted slightly when Red offered a buoyant greeting in the resident's native language. Somehow no one had ever remarked anywhere in Reddington's ginormous file that he spoke fluent Russian, but whatever he said was as effective this time as in the past. Within minutes an impossibly tiny wrinkled lady replaced the young man at the door and ushered them in from the freezing cold to the dim cramped entryway. As Red turned on the charm with their ancient hostess Liz chose to let her attention wander around the tiny parlor visible past the lady through the next doorway. It was just like the last three houses, she thought grimly. Ruthlessly clean but a virtual museum of ancient Russian history, stuffed with tchtoskes inherited down the family line since maybe the time of the czars. She stepped away from their conversation and shifted her bag from shoulder to shoulder. She glanced back at Reddington who nodded at her sharply while still issuing a whole stream of what sounded like excuses to the hostess. So she wearily dropped the bag to the floor and hoped that the hostess would at least invite them to sit down soon. Their car had slid off the windy poorly cleared road, and they had had to hike the last mile in the dark through the beginning of that evening's snowstorm. She had marched along silently with him at her side, still waiting as he had been for the last three days for her to give her final answer. 

Then like clockwork, came the moment, exactly as it had happened in the last five homes. Reddington said something in the midst of their discussion that made the host or hostess stare at her in bewilderment, then their whole demeanor towards her would radically change to something even more frustrating for Liz to accept. Some of the hostesses had gripped her hand in what seemed to Liz like worshipful devotion; one lady cried as she embraced her tightly. All uttered the same word for her with reverence, a word that he refused to translate, then they would call her Masha with affection for the rest of their visit. Reddington would stand by silently and let her handle the situation on her own the best she could in the few faltering phrases of Russian she had learned so far.

Liz was relieved this hostess only smiled brightly, exclaimed something in Russian that sounded inviting and quickly disappeared. Minutes later the clatter of dishes from down the short hall gave a hint of what she was doing.

"Sit down, Lizzie," Red invited her to join him on the ornate sofa. She did, keeping her distance as she rested her hands primly on her lap. Both were silent as they waited for the hostess to return. She didn't know what was on his mind, but her thoughts slipped back to the past. Two weeks ago they were living peacefully in a nice farmhouse in rural western Pennsylvania. It was quiet, serene, they even had adopted a stray cat she had heard crying out on the back porch. Then he had received a cryptic phone message from Dembe, and within three hours they were stowed in the back of a cargo plane for a twenty hour flight to parts unknown. Reddington had refused to answer any of her questions; pleading, yelling, crying... nothing would pry a reason out of his mouth beyond his repeated promise to keep her safe. Ten hours into the flight she gave up talking to him at all, and hadn't found any good reason since to break that streak until three nights ago when he had finally broken down and admitted the truth.

The hostess reappeared with a silver tray bearing an antique tea service. She fussed over Liz first, pouring her a cup and ordering Red in Russian to tell her dinner would be served within the hour. Then her eyes glazed over with concern, and the old lady fingered Liz's thin blouse. After a burst of speech Red translated with some trepidation. "She's afraid that you will catch cold after this evening's pleasant walk. She says you should go upstairs and take a hot bath and change into warmer clothes before dinner. Not a bad idea, Lizzie, you will be more comfortable."

"Yeah." Liz didn't argue anymore; it caused too much anguish for the hosts and hostesses if she refused any offers of hospitality. She finished her very sweet tea and smiled briefly at the hostess. The young man reappeared after several sharp calls from his grandmother and graciously led Liz to the largest bedroom of the house. There was only one bathroom the family shared, but he assured her repeatedly that she was welcome to take as long a soaking as she liked. The plumbing was Stalin-era but the tub was deep and the water reasonably hot and did a good job of chasing away the chill from their hike and her own heart. 

She had thought she had deciphered Reddington's secret all on her own. She was a profiler after all, and after two years and so many adventures together she thought she knew the man. She closed her eyes and sunk down until only her face were still poking out of the water. She had been so angry with him again, but the anger was just a front, she realized, something to hide behind on the long cold days and nights of this journey across the Russian wilderness.  
Underneath was the fear of what was driving Reddington to drag her away from the security of his extensive network of friends, colleagues and people who owed him a big favor. How he had found all of these quiet Russian families, she didn't know. Nothing in his history suggested any Russian connections at all, except for one: her mother. The nature of their relationship lingered constantly in her mind like a soundtrack that couldn't be dismissed. The most obvious answer was the one she kept approaching then shrinking away from like it was an angry poisonous snake coiled up and waiting. She had dropped enough hints in the beginning of their time on the run; there had been ample opportunities for him to admit to her just how he had known Katerina so well. But he had pretended to misunderstand or not hear her insinuations at all; which in Liz's mind was evidence enough her theory was right. She just wondered if her mother and father were still married at the time of the affair; she knew Red had been. At least she had the DNA test results to ease any further concerns, Cooper had pulled her into his office day two of her employment on the task force to earnestly assure her that there was no secret genetic relationship between her and the informant. She had joked about missing out on the chance for a dramatic 'Luke I am your father' scene and he had laughed in reply. and the matter was dropped.

So why was her mother's ex-lover hauling her around the backwoods of Russia? Liz kept circling around back to the same question and discovering it still hadn't acquired a good answer. Until three nights ago when she had just snapped. it was just them in the parlor; the host and hostess had gone to bed for the night after hours of overwrought hospitality that had grated on her nerves. "Red, what the fuck is going on?" she had demanded in frustration.

"Language, Lizzie," he had replied softly. The walls were likely rather thin; this home was nice and neat but barely holding itself together under the constant barrage of thick heavy snowfall outside.

"Reddington, just tell me why these people are talking to me like I'm some kind of saint come to Earth or I swear..." Her fists were balled up in her lap as if she was barely holding back taking a swing at him or the next person that burst into the room. Her eyes weren't just flashing; behind that they were tired and worn and lost and that was the last straw for him. They had intended for him to wait a little longer before sharing the story but he understood she needed the full truth now. So he had gathered up all the evidence he needed; like in all the other homes all the pieces but one were already scattered about on display. The last item was stowed in his suitcase and easily acquired in a five minute dash upstairs. Once ready he had told her the story calmly, unemotionally, as if it was a legend about someone else.

"The first time I heard the story it from your mother, Lizzie. I knew Katerina only as a KGB agent and thus my sworn enemy. We only met in person a handful of times. I know you suspected otherwise," she blushed slightly under his reproachful gaze. "I was a married man, Lizzie. I'm saddened you would think I would betray my wife with a foreign spy. Katerina found you and I that night, just after we escaped the house, and demanded I take you away from the place immediately before anyone connected with the government discovered you were there. Later after returning from Sam's I learned Rostova had been taken into federal custody and charged with multiple counts of espionage. She was a Soviet agent in Reagan's America, so she assumed she would not find many more chances to share your secret. She must have thought she could trust me after I had followed her first request. When I spoke with her privately that next day in her prison cell she told me the truth about your family and gave me names of those here in Russia who could help me. I promised her I would protect you, Lizzie, both for your own sake and for those who would need you someday."

"Where is she now, Red?" Liz asked quietly. Instead of answering he handed her the wrapped bundle he had retrieved from upstairs. She pulled off the enveloping velvet cloth to reveal a framed color photo of a young smiling man with his arm wrapped lovingly around Katerina.

"That is your birth father, Liz." Not since their escape had either of them had brought up the topic of him or his violent death. Liz rested her fingertip on the glass, feeling a swirl of conflicting emotions as she studied the image underneath.

"What was his name?" she whispered.

"Nicholas. Now look at this picture, Lizzie." This was a photo he had chosen from the multitude displayed on the mantle of the fireplace. She guessed it was a modern copy of a faded old photo dating from early in the previous century when photography was a rare and challenging artform. The photo showcased a family poised stiffly in their best clothing. The parents were seated and surrounded by a bevy of young women in pretty white dresses and ribbons. The mother held in her lap a young boy wearing a ceremonial uniform just his father. Liz turned to Red in puzzlement. 

Red briefly tapped the glass near one of the younger daughters. "This is Nicholas's grandmother. Your parents named you Maria in her honor, and you both shared the nickname Masha. This is the Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna, your great-grandmother. Lizzie, you are a descendant of the Romanov royal family." As soon as she yanked back with an argumentive yelp he shook his head firmly. "Look again at the pictures. You'll see the resemblance."

She did. As much as she wanted to protest the same distinctive features gazed back at her across the span of years; features very similar to her own. "But they all died in 1917, it's been proven I thought."

He pursed his lips. "It has cost me significant funds to keep everyone including the Russian government believing that was true. The execution of the Czar's family happened only a few miles from this town. Grand Duchess Maria and another of her sisters survived the original firing squad through an incredible coincidence. They had jewels sewn into the bodices of their dresses that deflected the bullets enough to prevent any killing shots. The young boy Alexei survived that first attempt as well. When they were found still alive buried underneath the other bodies they were taken outside of the prison and supposedly then murdered there. But Maria was taken away from the scene by sympathetic soldiers who saw no need to kill a little girl. Another body was placed in the burial site to confuse the Bolsheviks who had instigated the plot. Maria was then passed along from house to house of royal sympathizers until finally it was felt she could safely settle down under an assumed name. She married and had children. Each generation was told the truth of their lineage and expected to bring honor to their royal line. Many of them became dissidents or activists within the government, still hiding the truth of their identity until such time as it would be safe for the family to re-emerge from their exile and claim their birthright. Many died from their struggles to free their nation, others lived long peaceful lives and passed quietly. But when your mother risked speaking to me it was because with your father's death you became the last of the Romanov line and needed protection." 

"Why was I kept in America instead of returning to Russia?" Liz asked. She didn't believe him yet. She couldn't, it was far too fantastic a story. She would find the flaw that would make it all come apart and then he would have to tell her the real reason they had come here. 

Red shrugged. "The time period of the fire was an extraordinary epoch in Russian history. No one knew what the future would bring after the collapse of the Soviet Union. We decided it was prudent to keep you here with Sam instead until we saw where the chips would fall."

"You said we. Who else did you tell?" she demanded. 

"My superior at the agency, Alan Fitch. I also told Sam the full truth so he would understand what he was risking by adopting you. There were others I corresponded with here in Russia who were connected to the loyalist families and knew about your family, or had heard the stories in some other way. Our friend Berlin spent his years of imprisonment not far away from here. Did you ever wonder why he went through all of the hassle of hunting down my ex-wife to torture instead of you? As much as he hated me he would never have harmed you, Lizzie. To him you were a living relic of his nation's history. Since Reagan all of the Presidents and their advisors have known there is a living Romanov, they just don't know who she is or who has acted as her guardian. That was the very last assignment I was given back when I was still a loyal American agent, to protect the last Romanov at all costs." He smiled wistfully. "Despite all of my other vast moral lapses I tried to honor that duty to the best of my ability. I don't suppose I'll get a medal for my continued years of service, but I have never regretting fulfilling that role in your life. But that duty is finished now, Liz. The Russian government is anticipating an important election in the coming years. There is a wide swath of the nation that wants change but the many groups they've formed have yet to find a way to come together as one powerful movement. The leaders of these factions agree that a figurehead from the past may help them unite under one banner and bring about a new era of peace and prosperity. They want you to come forward now as the heir."

"This is a little hard to take in, Red," she said finally after several failed attempts to come up with anything else to say. "I can't decide right now."

"And you shouldn't, Lizzie!" he assured her. "It will be your decision to make whether you accept this role or not. Tell me when you have made your choice and I will abide by it."

Three days later she still couldn't make up her mind what to do. She had just kept running with him, letting all of the ramifications of his reveal fall over her in bits and pieces and constantly reigniting her fury at him for the lies and omissions and the myriad ways he had ruined her life.

 

Just as she thought about stepping out of the cooling water a rap on the drafty wooden bathroom door changed her mind. "Lizzie?" he called out hesitantly.

"What do you want?" she demanded. 

He was silent for a moment. "I just want to talk, Lizzie."

She curled up protectively with her arms wrapped around her legs tightly and tried to ignore the way her skin had flushed as soon as he had spoken. Because that was what was paining her the worst right now; not the revelation of the truth, but the repudiation of her false belief that he had once been her mother's lover and thus untouchable. This mess had started as something small and easily ignorable. As time passed she told herself it was just a crush, or a misplaced revenge fantasy on her ex-husband, or some kind of Freudian father figure thing. It was embarrassing to find herself during confrontations at the Post Office either staring at his lips or lost in the warm bourbon tones of his voice instead of his words. Then it became shameful to find herself lost in highly illicit fantasies about the man her country considered a traitor. She was sure her partners would notice someday and call her out on her sinful notions, or she would be asked into Cooper's office for some closed door fatherly advice. It would help if Red ever showed her a definitive personal feeling beyond his incessant need to protect her, but other than that he remained as obsessively circumspect about whatever emotions floated behind the warm gray eyes always watching her so closely. Every time a 'lister made a comment on their relationship she was hoping for some kind of clear response as well, but nothing ever gave her either a hint of his own interest or a clear indication that she should give up and move on out of her emotional morass. 

"Come out here, Lizzie," he insisted with the faintest tone of reproach, and she complied. All she had to wear was the robe she had found hanging inside the bathroom but it was thick and wooly and she felt appropriate dressed enough to stand in front of him, hands on her hips and demand why her bath had been interrupted.

"I have to leave," he stated simply. His eyes were darting anywhere but on her; his only tell she had ever been able to discern after years of study. The trick to following through on that hint was anger, so she nearly snarled in response.

"You're leaving me with a bunch of strangers?" 

His shoulders dropped in reply. "You'll be..."

"Safe? Not good enough, Reddington. Safe from what? The Cartel? The Russian government?" He was hiding his expression now, turning away from her in such a frustrating manner she she yanked on his arm to pull him her way. "Tell me the truth just once..." She froze when she saw his eyes, reddened and slightly swollen. "My God, Red... what?"

"I have to go," he repeated slowly. She bit her lip and kept his arm clenched firmly in her grip. He didn't try to free himself, just heaved a heavy breath and clenched his eyes.

"You're not coming back!" she exclaimed. All anger dissipated when he nodded gingerly in reply.

"It's time," Reddington tried to smile brightly at her. "Time to get rid of me, Lizzie. You'll be taken somewhere where you'll be better protected than I could ever manage. Your future is ... so bright, Elizabeth. You will do so many wonderful things in your new life."

Robe be dammed, she gripped both of his arms and pulled him close, forcing him to face her directly and see her anger and confusion. "Don't leave,"she ordered brusquely. "Please, don't..."

His eyes softened, from pity or something else she couldn't tell. "I will stay until morning, Lizzie, but after that my presence here is far too dangerous for the movement. I'm afraid of what the Cartel will discover if they linger too long in this area searching for me."

"Red, I don't want you to go. What if I say no?" she tried. She bit her lip as he tilted his head, confused by her response. "What if I refuse to come out as the Romanov heir?" 

His eyelashes were exquisite, she noted with one half of her attention, the way they brushed against his cheeks when he blinked. The rest of her was sinking at the way his disappointment manifested through his tightly closed mouth. "It would be your right to make that choice, Elizabeth. I could make you disappear and give you an entirely different and I'm sure adequate life far from the politics of the day. But we would still part ways. My protection would no longer be useful and the notoriety brought by my companionship would certainly not help you fade into the scenery."

She sat there next to him on the bed, staring out into the dimness of the bed chamber as he waited for her to make the next step in the dance. The mattress was old and saggy, and their combined weight was pulling them both down and closer together in the dip they created. He shifted slightly and his thigh bumped up against her robe. Even out here in the middle of the frigid frontier he was wearing one of his usual suit and tie combinations. Today he was wearing the silver Zegna that was her second favorite. The suit was a winter weight wool in dark blue, and she had once sat alone in her hotel room holding this jacket when he had accidentally left it behind. She had spent numerous minutes with the sleeve pressed against her face, treasuring the last remnants of his cologne that hadn't yet faded from the material. "Why didn't you tell me all of this earlier?" she asked.

"I should have, Lizzie," he admitted. "I'm sure that is a large aspect of your anger towards right now. There were many reasons you should have been told the truth. Sam thought so as well. He wanted to tell you everything before... I had my reasons for keeping the secret from you for some time longer."

"So that's why..." she heaved a sigh. "What if Tom and I had decided to have a biological child? Would that child have been considered a Romanov as well?"

"That's why Sam cautioned you to never have biological children," Red admitted. "Your child would have been in as much danger as you."

"Why would we have been in danger at all?" it was good to finally ask these things, she decided, and he was actually answering her directly which was an unique event in itself. 

He licked his lips before continuing. "The people you will meet tomorrow have all of the best ideas for using your identity to bring about good changes for the motherland. There are many others, in the government and outside of it, that would kill to eliminate any chance of a revival of the Romanov line. If you would have learned the truth as a younger woman, it would have changed your self-perception and then your behavior would have changed as well. Be honest with yourself, Lizzie, would you have made the same choices you have done knowing this?"

Tom.. the FBI... her profiler instincts turned on herself. "No, I would have done things differently," she admitted. "I would have made choices that reflected my expectation of a different future. Okay, I forgive you for hiding the truth from me. But I still don't understand why you feel you have to leave. I want you to stay, Red." Tentatively she reached over just few inches and brushed her fingers over his clenched fist resting on his knee. He tightened up in reply.

"It is best," was all he would say. He didn't pull away, but his breaths quickened slightly as she played with the hand still captured underneath hers. His neck flushed ruby as he stared ahead across the bedroom. "Lizzie..."

"Stay," she insisted again. Then she leaned over just enough that her cheek brushed against his shoulder. "I'm sorry I've been so angry with you these last few days. These last few years, really. You saved me so many times and I have been so ungrateful. I apologize, Red, and I thank you."

"Don't thank me, Lizzie," he muttered gruffly. "You don't owe me any thanks."

"My royal guard," she said suddenly, remembering the phrase from some silly romance book she had read years ago. "What are they going to call me?"

"For now you will be the Grand Duchess Maria Elizabeth," he replied with some bitter amusement. "Eventually they plan to have you assume the title of Czarina. You'll have to renounce your American citizenship."  
"Elizabeth Keen never existed anyway," she shrugged. "You produced her birth certificate, didn't you?"

"Your real birth certificate is housed under lock and key along with the rest of the documentation of your lineage. For additional proof they'll check a sample of your blood against your closest living relative, Prince Phillip of Great Britain." Her cheek was now flattened comfortably against his shoulder and the rest of her was leaning in closely. She could hear his heartbeat speeding up in response under the layers of jacket and vest. Her hand moved on its own, sliding up his arm and shoulder to rest on the knot of his tie. 

"You're overheating in this hot room," she stated blandly. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin through the cotton of his dress shirt. She was warm herself in the thick woolen robe; sweating slightly, but she didn't dare move and let the thick material fall away from her legs or fan herself with the collar. As if he read her mind his eyes darted down towards her and flew away again. 

"Where will you go?" she asked only to draw his attention back to her again and keep him from leaving just yet.

"There's always business to be done," he answered idly. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as she cuddled in closer and turned her face upwards. "I should leave you now, Lizzie, and let you dress for dinner."

"No," she stated definitively, surprising both herself and him with her reply. "No, stay here, please." Her hand slid over the top of his tie to caress his cheek. She brushed her finger lightly over his mouth once quickly, then again more slowly. This time he kissed her fingertip and they both froze in confusion. Then Red reached up with his free hand carefully but firmly guided her hand away. 

"No, Lizzie," he said. At first she pulled away from him, embarrassed by her display and hurt by his rejection. But then she realized his tone had been heavy with regret and something else that brought back her hopes. She risked a glance to see his eyes had darkened slightly and were now filled with hopeless pained longing. 

He shook his head lightly at her sudden realization. "Dearest Lizzie, how can you have not seen how badly I've wanted you for so damn long now? I don't tend to win the rare times I fight temptation, but in this situation I've had to keep fighting and winning. I can't ever have you, Lizzie, and I can't keep fighting my desires anymore. So now that my role as your protector has ended I am going to remove myself from this battle and go quietly back to my criminal world." Throughout his speech he had pulled himself away from her to stand up and cross the room, facing out the window into the cold darkness as a way to force some kind of separation. 

She stayed in her seat, staring at his back as if pure want could bring him back to her. "Red, what's stopping us now? I'm not an FBI agent anymore, I understand your role in my past.."

"If this was just a matter of a few hours of pleasure in that bed I would cheerfully agree, Lizzie," he declared to the window. "If that is all you seek I can accede to your wishes for one night with the understanding both of us go about our separate ways tomorrow. But I've discovered my emotions go far deeper than that, Elizabeth. Since my wife's betrayal I had honestly thought I had become incapable of ever again forming any real attachments of that nature. But I have. I love you, Lizzie. You healed me enough to be able to fall deeply and inextricably in love with you. I can't thank you for that because it has brought me to this painful place of having to say good-bye." His reflection in the window offered a wry twist of his lips. 

She joined him at the window, resting her forehead against his back. "I love you, too, and I know just how bad it hurts to say that. I spent the last two years so angry at myself for wanting the man who shook apart my world. I had to sit through so many encounters with Ressler and Davidson cringing with shame at the way I was betraying my job and my country every time I found myself daydreaming about you. When we ran I thought it would be easier, but it wasn't. I thought..."

"I know what you thought, Lizzie, and I let you think it, because it made it easier for me to hide my own desires." The snowflakes outside increased dramatically in number. If that continued the roads would become impassible within hours, and he would not be able to leave the house the next morning, no matter how badly he wanted to escape. "I used to read my daughter bedtime stories. Its strange how well those old tales fit our peculiar situation. The royal guard and the princess never got the happily ever after ending, and I've never heard of tales that don't end with the criminal getting his deserved punishment."

"The Czarina gets whatever she wants, right?" Liz insisted. "And its 2015, not the Middle Ages. I'll make my own choices."

He shook his head. "The Czarina's responsibility is to the people of Russia. You'll be expected to marry some reasonably charming descendent of an ancient noble family and produce a proper heir. I believe there already is a gentleman set aside for you. A grand royal wedding would certainly ignite the public's interest in keeping you around."

"So I have an official arranged marriage. That doesn't stop us from having something real between us," she argued.

"No, Lizzie," he repeated sharply. "I won't do that. It killed me knowing you were sleeping in Tom Keen's bed every night. I can't ever make love to you then watch you walk back to another man. You're mine or not, no compromises."

"This is impossible," she said finally as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. She dug her fingers under his vest to feel his heart thudding in his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder. 

"Yes," he answered her simply. "We have no future."

"Then give me the present," she whispered in his ear. "Make love to me tonight, and let's just hope tomorrow never comes." When he hesitated she tugged on his shoulder to turn him around and kissed him fervently multiple times. When he remained frozen still she kept kissing him, running her fingers across the short bristles of his hair and neck. When she felt the tears on his cheeks she still kept forcing him to keep his lips under hers. "Raymond, please. Let me have real love just this once, so I can remember what it's like in the days ahead."

He was sobbing as he finally opened his mouth and accepted her inside. "Anything for you, Elizabeth. You know I would do anything for you," he murmured between kisses. Then he leaned over and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully on the faded bedspread. With his forehead touching hers he whispered, "I will always be yours, Lizzie. No matter where I go or what I do I am the man who loves you, and I will always come back when you need me."

"I need you now, Raymond," she whispered in reply.

 

When she woke hours later he was gone. The son of the hostess knew just enough English to explain that her guard had walked off into the night. Through the unreliable phone system they were able to ascertain that he had reached the safety of town, and were informed that he was no longer going to serve as protector for Maria Elizabeth. The next morning a pair of earnest young Russian men took over that chore. The last remaining Romanov spent the next six months shuffling from home to home straining to learn Russian and desperate for any news of him. But she heard nothing from Reddington for two years, until the morning of her combination coronation/wedding. 

Her first thought was happy relief when the armed men broke into her grand royal bedroom. After all, there was only one criminal in the world who could arrange for the abduction of the princess on that day of all days.

**Author's Note:**

> Two things in here are true:
> 
> The bullets at the assassination were deflected by the gems in their underclothes and several family members survived that first attempt on their lives.
> 
> Prince Phillip is the closest living relation to the Romanov line. His blood was used to test several people claiming to be the last Romanov.


End file.
